


Duality

by BeveStuscemi



Series: Before There Was Hell [7]
Category: Silent Hill (Video Game Series)
Genre: Child Death, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Pre-SH:D, Self-Hatred, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-30
Updated: 2017-08-30
Packaged: 2018-12-21 22:12:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11953716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeveStuscemi/pseuds/BeveStuscemi
Summary: Murphy Pendleton is dead. There is now only hatred and sadness.He can murder Napier to appease the hatred.But, he can't do anything to stop the sadness.So he might as well do the first.





	Duality

Murphy Pendleton is dead. There is now only hatred and sadness.

The mornings bring hatred. From the moment he pulls himself from his thin mattress and the soles of his boots land on the dirty floor, Murphy wants nothing more than bloody, horrible vengeance. The prison corridors no longer frighten him, he now almost relishes the anger and torment of the men behind bars, sucking in their hatred like it’s his only life source. Once, he cowered in these passageways, kept his head down and ignored the jeers and grabs from the other men but this Murphy is dead. Murphy now wants this and encourages it with empty stares and vacant expressions that will rile the men even further. The anger is food and Murphy’s been too hungry for too long.  
The food in the prison is shit. Breakfast consists of lumpy porridge with toast to prisoners not on the warden’s hit list that week and usually washed down with glass of milk or a hot drink, if they’re lucky. Murphy doesn’t mind, plain breakfast leaves no room for thought or taste and it allows him to focus on the one thing that truly matters; revenge.

Showers are communal, with Murphy staring at the wall as the hot water engulfs his entire body and as he scrubs himself clean. He sometimes scrubs so hard he bleeds and he must be forcibly stopped from washing himself further by guards so he doesn’t remove another layer of his skin. The showers leave him red raw, with adrenaline rushing through his veins and senses heightened so that he can hear, smell and see everything around him.  
“You’re like a caged animal, cupcake.” Sewell said to him, escorting him back to his cell. Murphy didn’t take the bait. Sewell is a prick but he isn’t worthy of this divine anger boiling in his stomach and spreading to his brain. Instead, Murphy nodded and sat in his cell, biding his time.

It was a Tuesday afternoon when Sewell had called him into his office. He’d made a point of sitting in an elaborate position, legs crossed over his desk, gloved fingers running up and down his pistol with a shit-eating grin etched into his face. He made Murphy know that he was running the show.  
“Take a seat, Pendleton.” He pointed at the chair opposite him with his pistol and Murphy sat opposite him. “Got some news for you.”  
Murphy stared at him. He didn’t want a parole, not now.  
“You know a boy called Daniel Stephens?” Murphy shook his head, he had no news of the outside world in God knows how long. Sewell scoffed. “Of course you don’t. You know jack shit about anything.”  
There’s a pause and Sewell put down his pistol and folded his arms instead.  
“Anyway, a few days ago the Brahms Police Force pulled the body of an eight-year-old boy out a river somewhere in the north of the town.” Sewell kicked his feet off the desk and pulled in closer, closer to Murphy. “Now, this little boy. The police pull him out of the river and there’s all sorts of nasty shit they have to deal with; bloating, leeches, you name it, it’s all nasty shit. However,” He paused and looked Murphy dead in the eyes. “They also discover spunk on the boy’s trousers.”  
Murphy recoiled at this and this stomach turned. He didn’t want to think about it but Sewell continued regardless.  
“So, they run a DNA test and they find a match. They find a Mister Napier, a registered sex offender living in inner Brahms and they arrest him. But, it doesn’t end there!” He clearly enjoyed telling this little story, which sickened Murphy. “The police force also remember _another_ dead child case and they decide to reopen it, do some more investigation. Do you want to know what they found?”  
“What?” Murphy’s mouth was dry and his voice barely more than a whisper.  
“The same DNA they found on Daniel Stephens is an exact match to the DNA they found on Charlie Pendleton. And do you want to know something else?”  
Murphy was shaking now, hands gripped to the side of the chair. “What?” He mouthed as the Sewell’s mouth curled into a smirk.  
“This Napier is coming to Ryall State Prison. He was charged with kidnapping, sexual assault and murder this morning. I think it’d be in your immediate interest to show him how we greet child murdering scum ‘round here.”

And thus, a deal was made. For weeks, Murphy planned how he would finally murder Napier, weighing all possibilities of torture in his mind. He’d beat him into submission first, his fists breaking any bone he could, desperate to hear the dull thud of his bones giving in to the violence. He’d finish by slamming Napier’s head into the shower room’s tiled floor, letting the water run red with the blood from his smashed skull. If he was still breathing, he’d cut his face off. He’d first remove his eyes, carving them out of their sockets before sawing off his tongue. Then, he’d slip the knife under the folds of his neck, roughly slicing the skin and peeling it back to reveal the red muscle and shattered skull of Napier. Murphy foamed at the mouth just thinking about it. He’d torture him until he collapsed and then he’d wake him up to do it again. He’d get revenge for the things the sick pig did to his Charlie, he’d get justice once and for all. He’d finally sleep soundly knowing that he spilled the blood of the man who murdered his son.

But the night brings sadness. At 2:00am, Murphy is hunched over his toilet, dry retching over the story Sewell told him. He thinks of fat leeches, sucking the warm blood out of Charlie’s body and he continues to retch until his throat is burning and tears are streaming down his face. No policeman ever confirmed if Charlie was abused the same way Daniel was and Murphy can’t bear to think of it. He was fucking _seven._ Murphy can’t lose the one lingering thread of sanity he has left in him.  
The dry vomiting stops and Murphy pulls himself up from the toilet, splashes his face with some water from the wash basin opposite his bed. He’s a mess, anyone can see that but Charlie had his eyes and right now, that’s the only thing Murphy notices as he stares into his reflection in the broken mirror. Those brown eyes staring back at him could be Charlie’s and he collapses onto the floor.

“ _I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry I couldn’t protect you.”_ His cell has flooded again and now Charlie is beneath him, floating in the water. Murphy sobs harder.  
“ _I shouldn’t be here.”_ He whispers to his reflection. “ _I should have died when you did, there’s no reason to go on.”_ He reaches for Charlie in the water but when his hand touches the liquid, he vanishes and he realises there’s nothing there apart from his own reflection. Charlie will never be there, not anymore. He can kill a million Patrick Napiers, torture them, murder them, it doesn’t matter. Charlie’s gone and nothing he can do will get him back.  
He sobs harder than ever and cries himself to sleep that night, curled up on his prison cot with the knees of his green jumpsuit wet from the leakage.

 

At 5:30am, Sewell collects him from his cell and takes him down to the shower room. There is now only hatred.


End file.
